My uncle Dean said at the service for his retirement from the ministry last evening that this song sung at his ordination had guided his ministry. I believe it was also the theme of his dad’s, my grandpa Becker’s calling.
At a Becker picnic back in the good ole days Uncle Dean told me, “Home is where your husband is.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like good days to me as right then all our earthly goods were packed in a U-haul for the move from Idaho to Georgia. I had no clue how this path would take us to a lifetime in New York City, to the one of the most, if not the most, diverse counties in the world.
Home is Elmhurst, Queens, where my husband is. Last evening, we watched as the smiling Tibetans circled to the music of their homeland. Once, a young woman stepped beside me at an intersection. She said, “I recognize you from the Colombian restaurant where I used to work.” Coming into our building some years ago, a group of monks in the rust-colored robes of the nearby Thai temple stood waiting for the elevator. Today, (after an appointment for his eye (thank you for praying)), Laurence will take the vital signs on patients from Mexico, China, India, South Korea . . . He works with nurses from Uzbekistan, Nepal, Russia, Jamaica, and many other countries. Jesus says, “All power is given unto me. Go.”
How blessed we are to live and work among all God’s children. The Gospel story, “Must be told.” Are we telling it? Berniece
An Ordinary Life 